


Salvation

by Spongyllama



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Crying, Forgiveness, Gen, Reunions, probably sappy too but in a good way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 23:45:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spongyllama/pseuds/Spongyllama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In death, Anakin must learn to forgive himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salvation

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by the imagery of the Lost Missions of TCW as well as Jean Valjean's death in Les Miserables - sort of how no matter how many things he did that were morally questionable, what ultimately matters is all the good he brought to the world and the people around him. That's the approach I take with Anakin/Vader's death here.
> 
> I wanted to portray Anakin's salvation in a way that he's not being absolved of all the awful things he's done, but he's choosing to put an end to it by way of sacrificing his life to save his son's - an act of ultimate parental love and goodness.

Anakin isn’t quite sure if he’s in heaven or hell.

The first things he sees are the spires. The five white looming spires standing in a stark silhouette against the twilight sky. Or is it dawn? He can’t really tell. He hasn’t seen a sunset or a sunrise with his own eyes in a long time. But he recognizes the symbolic spires of the Jedi Temple anywhere. He lived here for thirteen years, after all. And then he destroyed it.

He’s never really believed in a heaven or a hell... Heaven has never been a concept that made much sense to him. Maybe that was because he had been a Jedi. Maybe not. But he could never get himself to imagine a place where everything was light and serene all the time. He’s spent enough time in the dark to know that ‘light and serene’ cannot be maintained.

But at the same time, he’s never believed in hell. He’s heard people curse an eternity of the nine Corellian hells upon others countless times. He remembers being cursed himself as the Jedi grew less and less popular throughout the galaxy. And he’s sensed those curses in almost every person he’s killed since. But he still can’t believe that any type of hell exists, because he’s been living one this whole time, and he hardly believes there could be anything worse than when he was alive.

He’s never even given much thought to becoming one with the Force, either. Dying had always been too terrifying to think about. But fear of death was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. His fear of death led to the destruction of everything he knew. Everyone he used to care about. But right now, he’s not sure he cares about much of anything. He just knows that those spires are looming over him and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad.

He manages to look away from them, but he knows they’re still there. The next thing he sees is the misshapen, twisting old tree that used to stand in the Temple training grounds. He remembers standing under the shadow of that tree practicing basic lightsaber techniques while Obi-Wan looked on. He remembers battling Barriss Offee here and pushing her against the tree in an impatient rage while Ahsoka’s trial was going on. He remembers watching clones burn the tree to the ground. But it’s here now, in the same state it always was. And he hates it, because it reminds him of what he’s done. He looks away.

But where else is there to look? Everything about this place brings back memories. Even the speeders flying in the ambiguous sky and around the temple bring back memories. He wonders if anyone is actually driving them, or if they’re just for show. He can’t imagine anyone wanting to drive around Coruscant for eternity. Except maybe him, because that would mean he wouldn’t have to face what he knows he has to.

He vaguely remembers that he used to love to fly. He never got much of a chance to do that after he turned. Darth Vader never remembered what it was like to have fun.

So he looks down, tries to forget about this place, hoping if he can’t see it anymore it will go away and leave him to spend this eternity as he knows he deserves: alone.

But something is now brought to his attention. His eyes catch sight of his clothes. They’re black. They’ve always been black, since the day he was allowed to choose his own Jedi attire. There were a lot of reasons for that. It kept him warm, because he never got used to the cooler-than-Tatooine climate of nearly every planet he visited. The black also signified power, although he doesn’t think he knew that at the time. The power he knew he had, and knew he could attain. The power he eventually did attain. The power to destroy, to conquer, to rule. Nonetheless, he is glad to be in his familiar black Jedi tunics. He has never felt comfortable in lighter clothes. In them, he had always felt as if he were lying to himself.

He notices something else. He has hands, real hands, and real legs. His skin is his natural tan, which he hasn’t seen in so long, and he reaches up and runs his hands through the hair he almost forgot he once had. He can _feel_. He hasn’t been able to feel things like this in a long time. Such simple sensations that people take for granted. That he had taken for granted until Count Dooku had cut his right arm off. But it was all back. His body is whole again. His skin is smooth, not charred from the fires that have haunted his memory for a long time. Even the scar on his face that he had borne all throughout the Clone Wars is gone, he feels. For the first time in a long time, he feels like Anakin Skywalker again. He _is_ Anakin again.

Anakin wonders if his eyes are blue or yellow.

“They’re blue,” says a voice behind him. That voice that he’s been expecting this whole time and wondering when it would appear. And now it has. And it’s definitely him, too. His presence in the Force is so sudden and so familiar it almost overwhelms Anakin right then and there.

“You haven’t even seen them,” Anakin mutters to himself. He doesn’t how he feels about hearing that crisp, civilized Coruscanti accent again.

“No, but I can tell,” Obi-Wan’s voice says. “I could, of course, check them, if you’d like.”

Anakin shakes his head. “I can’t even look at you. Don’t make me,” he whispers.

“What are you afraid of, Anakin?”

Luke called him that, too, on the forest moon. He knows that’s his name. It’s who he feels like, for the first time in over twenty years. It’s who he’s always been, deep down. But he still shudders when he actually hears it.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he says, forcing himself to look up at the spires again. Any distraction that would stop him from looking at Obi-Wan.

“You’ve always been afraid,” Obi-Wan says softly. “Afraid of so many things that I was never equipped to help you understand. And I am so sorry for that. It was my failure to you.”

That almost gets him to turn around, but he stops himself. “ _Don’t –”_ Anakin says, gritting his teeth. He forces himself to calm down. “Don’t you _dare_ apologize to me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve anything from you, I never have. I – I _killed_ you!” And now he does turn around, and sees everything the way it used to be. The man’s neatly trimmed hair and beard, his pristine off-white tunics, even some of the wrinkles around his eyes. Wrinkles Anakin knows he probably put there himself. And then there’s Obi-Wan’s smile, which hurts Anakin’s heart most of all. He deserves no kindness from this man.

“Did you? Or was that Vader?” Obi-Wan poses the question as though there is a simple answer.

“ _I am_ Vader.”

“You don’t look like him. You don’t feel like him. You don’t have his eyes.”

“These are the same eyes, despite any color changes,” Anakin says bitterly. Obi-Wan just shakes his head.

“No, you don’t understand,” he sighs. “Darth Vader’s eyes were hard and cruel, full of hatred and pain. I remember them staring at me on Mustafar, and they broke my heart,” he uncharacteristically admits. “But right now I’m looking at Anakin Skywalker’s eyes, which are loving and soft, and still so often full of pain.”

Anakin sighs too. He can never get anywhere with this man. And Obi-Wan can tell he doesn’t want to talk about this. Obi-Wan could always tell. They stand in silence until Obi-Wan speaks again.

“Would you like to go for a walk?” he offers lightly, as if this were any other day at the Jedi Temple.

Anakin fakes a laugh. “Yeah, and see all the places I raided with clones? All the places I helped destroy? I’d _love_ to.” He turned away from Obi-Wan again. “I guess this actually is hell.”

He can sense Obi-Wan shifting. He is suddenly aware of how thick this place is with the Force. Wherever ‘this place’ is.

“What makes you think this is hell?” Obi-Wan asks calmly.

“Well for one,” Anakin says, turning to face him, lacking his old master’s patience, “I’m stuck here alone with you.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “Maybe you haven’t changed that much after all.”

An unfamiliar part of Anakin wants to smile, but he swallows it. He kicks at the ground, expecting dirt to cloud at his feet and finding none. Of course, the Jedi are too _civilized_ for dirt.

When did he start making jokes again?

“Is there anyone else here?” he asks Obi-Wan, glancing at him.

“Oh, they’ll start showing up soon, I’m sure.”

Anakin rolls his eyes. “So when we were alive, you wouldn’t give me a straight answer, and now that we’re dead, you still won’t. You haven’t changed either.”

Obi-Wan chuckles again. “I did for a while. There was a long time when I had lost faith in you. When I was sure there was no chance for your redemption.”

“And you think I’m redeemed now?”

“Do you?”

Anakin rolls his eyes again. “I think I’ve done a few too many crimes for one act of good to save my soul.”

Obi-Wan raises his chin a little, looking Anakin over. “Well then, allow me to do one thing I never had a chance to in life. Let me help you.”

Anakin looks at him incredulously, spreading out his arms as if to remind Obi-Wan of what he was looking at. “Help me. _That’s_ what you propose, to help _me_? Obi-Wan –” He cuts himself off, realizing this is the first time he has actually said Obi-Wan’s name. He lowers his arms, feeling weak all of a sudden. “You said it yourself, Obi-Wan. On Mustafar. I’m lost.”

He doesn’t become aware of the distance between him and Obi-Wan until Obi-Wan moves toward him, speaking softer now. “Anakin, when I said that to you, we were standing in the middle of a river of lava after you and the Emperor had destroyed everything we had fought for together as Jedi. You were so very lost at the time, and I was heartbroken, and disappointed, and shocked that the friend I knew so well had done this to the galaxy and to himself.” He reaches out and takes Anakin’s hands. Anakin flinches, but doesn’t pull away. “But that’s not you anymore.”

Anakin is looking down at their hands. His voice is thick with unwanted emotions as he says, “But how do you know that?”

Obi-Wan smiles. “Need I remind you that we are Jedi? I can feel what is inside of your heart, Anakin. But more than that, I know because we are friends. Brothers. And although you forsook the name Anakin Skywalker for a long time, I have always loved the man with that name.”

It was too much. Anakin flinches away from Obi-Wan and turns his back, running his hands through his hair again. Then a moment later, he turns around again and pulls Obi-Wan into an embrace, burying his face in Obi-Wan’s neck. He finds that even after that huge confession, which Obi-Wan never would have given when he was still alive, Anakin is still struck dumb when he feels Obi-Wan warmly return the hug.

He doesn’t know how long they stand there like that, but he knows that he’s shaking and squeezing Obi-Wan and telling him that he is so sorry, so sorry for everything, for killing him and killing the Jedi and killing –

“I forgive you,” he hears Obi-Wan say softly, and he breaks down. Because he’s saying the things he wanted to say twenty-three years ago, and because Obi-Wan is saying the things Anakin needed to hear back then. The things, he realizes now, that Obi-Wan wanted to say, too, but never could. And although Anakin doesn’t forgive himself, and never will, hearing Obi-Wan say that is a blessing. And maybe a curse. Because it hurts so much. Because he doesn’t deserve it. But all he knows is that right here, right now, he’s a lot happier than he’s been in a long, long time.

Anakin doesn’t remember letting go of Obi-Wan, or Obi-Wan putting his arm around Anakin’s shoulders, but now they are walking into the temple. He stops.

“No, I can’t,” he says, his voice unsteady. “I can’t do it, Obi-Wan, I can’t.”

“You can,” Obi-Wan says patiently, but he waits until Anakin stops shaking and nods.

They enter a brightly lit hallway. The ornate Jedi decor is like a shadow from the past, one he forces himself to look at. They are at the base of the central spire, and he sees the door to the turbolift that leads up to the Council Chambers, but Obi-Wan leads him away from it.

Obi-Wan stops walking. Anakin looks sideways at him, but he just motions for Anakin to move forward. Feeling uneasy, Anakin walks down the corridor until he hears it: the unmistakable laughter of younglings. After a moment, he understands. He feels the blood drain out of his face and swings around to Obi-Wan.

The man has a sad but encouraging smile on his face. “You can’t do this to me,” Anakin begs, frozen in his place. “I can’t face them. Not them. Please, Obi-Wan, I –”

“This is not a punishment, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says gently. “It will be all right, I promise.” Anakin just shakes his head, but Obi-Wan will not relent. Shaking violently, he turns and keeps walking. He can hardly put one foot in front of the other.

Then he sees them. They look as happy as they sound, but this just makes the lump in his throat bigger. And they see him, and approach him as though his lightsaber hadn’t struck them down all those years ago. As though he hadn’t killed them all, or ordered the clones to do so. He kneels down to meet them.

“Master Skywalker!” says one boy gleefully, but all Anakin can hear are their screams and cries, ingrained in his memory. He had been their hero, he knew. He had been the hero of a lot of people, however misguided that may have been. And he _killed_ them. He squeezes his eyes shut and feels tears stream down his cheeks. He hopes to all the stars that the children will disappear, and Obi-Wan, too, so he can be left alone to his shameful agony for all eternity.

Anakin feels Obi-Wan crouch next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to them,” he says softly. And although Anakin knows he has to, he is so, so scared. He forces his eyes open and sees the younglings smiling at him.

“I am s-so sorry,” he chokes out. “I didn’t – I –”

“It’s all right, Master Skywalker,” says a smiling Tholothian girl with the familiar headdress. “We know it wasn’t really you that did that to the Jedi.”

“But it was,” he says, but his voice is so thick with emotion and guilt that the words hardly come out.

A red Togruta girl shakes her head. She reminds him so much of Ahsoka. “The Emperor said terrible things to you that made you think you were doing the right thing. He took over your mind. It could have happened to anyone.”

Anakin shakes his head violently. “I took away your futures.”

“But then you fixed it all,” says a young Nautolan boy. In the end, you were still our hero.” Anakin feels a stab at his heart.

Obi-Wan leans in. “They have forgiven you. Now it is time for you to start forgiving yourself.” As if it were that easy.

The younglings look at each other, nod, and say in unison: “Welcome back, Master Skywalker!” One of them even briefly hugs him before walking away. He can’t stop the sobs that escape.

Obi-Wan rubs him on the back soothingly. “You did well. It will only get easier from here.” He lets Anakin lean into him for support, and patiently waits for him to calm himself. It takes a few minutes.

“I don’t – don’t see how that’s not a punishment,” says Anakin, his voice unsteady.

“Because they know what you did to them, and they still forgave you. They know that what you were then is not who you are now.”

“Well, everyone seems to know that except for me,” Anakin says, accepting Obi-Wan’s help to stand up.

Obi-Wan smiles. Anakin isn’t sure if he’s ever stopped. “Come. We have more to see.”

They move up the corridor and down another. Anakin doesn’t remember these halls as well as Obi-Wan seems to, and it takes him a moment to see where they’re headed: the residential quarters. Obi-Wan leads him down familiar halls until they’re walking through the door to what was once Anakin’s room. Anakin stares around at the old red walls he remembers, runs his hands over his workbench, sits on the edge of his bed and feels the silk sheets with his fingers. He takes in the old metal crates full of spare droid parts, looks out the windows and sees the bright Coruscant skyline, and then his eyes rest on the podracing poster, the only relic he had kept from his days on Tatooine. He stares at it for a long time before turning to Obi-Wan, who is watching him from the doorway.

“So why am I here?” he asks, not sure if he wants an answer.

“To remind you,” Obi-Wan says simply. Anakin decides to accept that. His eyes are drawn back to the poster. He used to stare at it for hours when his nightmares kept him up at night. It may have been an item from his time as a slave, but it was also the time of his mother. As a slave, he remembers, he had hardly owned anything at all. As a Jedi, even less.

“Sometimes when I was here, I still felt like a slave,” he says, his eyes trained away from Obi-Wan. “Having to call everyone master, and doing everything you or anyone told me to do. And I hated it. When I fell, I felt like I had power over myself for the first time. I could do _anything_ , and I would be invincible, because surely, I thought, the dark side must be more powerful, otherwise the Jedi wouldn’t be so afraid of it. All I ever really wanted was power, I guess. Power to save Padme, the way I couldn’t save my mother.” He looks at Obi-Wan, face blank, voice flat. “It’s not until now that I realize I was a slave to the dark side the whole time. I always hated slavery more than any other thing in the universe, and I still gave myself up to it. I can’t believe I was too stupid to understand that.”

“Palpatine infected your mind far deeper than I realized when I was alive,” Obi-Wan says sadly. “I knew that you had made a choice, but I never knew how far you were in already, and how much you needed me if you were going to get out. I cared about you so much that I was sure nothing like this would ever happen to you. In that way, I was blind.”

“But I still made the choice, Obi-Wan, that was _me_ ,” Anakin says.

“You did. You made many choices. But there were a great many things that led up to those choices. Things since the day you first came to the Temple.” Obi-Wan shifts where he stands. “I didn’t realize until it was too late that you needed me to be a friend more than you needed a master. And when we did reach that point of friendship, those were the happiest days of my life.” He gestures to his appearance. “I suppose that’s why I look like this now.”

Anakin looks down at himself. Besides his right arm and a multitude of missing scars, he too looks like he did during the Clone Wars. He supposes that must mean that’s when he was happiest. He had had Ahsoka as his Padawan, then, and Padme as his wife. And he had had Obi-Wan in a partnership that used to mean more to him than anything. But still, after all this...he isn’t entirely sure he _remembers_ happiness.

Obi-Wan speaks again. “I realized too late that you trusted Palpatine with things you couldn’t trust me with, and that disturbed me more than I can say. Not because of you, but because I had not made myself available to you. You saw me as someone who cared more about the Jedi Order, and obeying the Council, than I cared about you. So when I found out that Palpatine was the Sith, and saw the hologram of you bowing to him, it was almost more than I could bear.”

Anakin knows Obi-Wan doesn’t blame him for his distrust, but he can’t help feeling the guilt bearing down on him. “I never wanted to distrust you...I don’t even know when that started. I just know that I felt like if I told you about Padme, you would report me...and I was _terrified_ that if I told you about Dooku, or the Tuskens, that you would never look at me the same way again.” He looks away, miserable.

Obi-Wan crosses the room to sit next to him. Anakin rests his head on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. It really has been a long time since he has had actual contact with another sentient being.

He finds himself thinking of his mother and Padme. “Are they here?” he asks suddenly, somehow knowing Obi-Wan would understand.

“It is...different...for non-Force-sensitives,” Obi-Wan replies, almost hesitant, as if he expects this to be the most difficult part. “In life, they do not have a close enough connection to the Force to maintain their own identity, and they end up becoming a part of the Force when they die. Though they may no longer be Padme Amidala and Shmi Skywalker as you knew them, they are now a vital part of the Force, and are therefore all around us.”

As if on cue, Anakin is met with an overwhelming sensation. There is so much familiarity in it, the soft, loving, comforting touch of the two women who meant everything in the world to him. Right now, he is surrounded on all sides with the people he loves most. And this is a shock, because he isn’t quite sure when he remembered how to recognize love. It has for so long been a shadow from his unwelcome past, but now it comes up in full force and he can’t do anything other than allow a sad smile to creep up on his face.

Obi-Wan’s smile is much wider. “Now I’m beginning to see the Anakin I remember.”

“I had forgotten what it felt like to be loved,” Anakin says distantly. “I tried so hard to forget....”

Obi-Wan gives him a few minutes to embrace these long lost feelings before saying quietly, “Are you ready to go on?” Anakin takes one last look around his room and nods.

They spend a long time roaming around the Temple. It’s mostly empty of Jedi, and the most of the few Anakin sees remind him of his deeds long ago. He sees the Room of a Thousand Fountains, the tranquil getaway for Jedi seeking peace. They visit the Halls of Healing, where they each spent days, possibly weeks, of recovery from so many injuries, often together. Anakin looks down at his right hand again. It’s still there.

They see the Archives, where Anakin remembers destroying much of the ancient texts and teachings of the Jedi. They walk by the dojo, where he and Obi-Wan had spent thousands of hours sparring, not knowing that this was their preparation for their final battle to the death.

Then they end up, once again, at the base of the center spire. Obi-Wan looks at him. “Do you want to go up?”

“No,” Anakin says. “But I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

He is surprised when Obi-Wan chuckles. “Even after all this, Anakin, you still have much to learn. You always have a choice.”

Anakin supposes he should know that better than anyone. He stares at the turbolift doors for a minute before saying, “Let’s go.”

He finds that it isn’t as difficult to enter the Council Chamber as it had been for each area before this. The twelve chairs are still there. He can remembers which masters had sat in which in the last days of the war. He sees his. But he knows that spot never really belonged to him.

“How do you feel, being here?” Obi-Wan says from behind him.

Anakin doesn’t know how to answer. This is where he first met the Council. It is where he stood beside Obi-Wan. Beside Ahsoka. And, in the end, alone. This is where he had a burst of anger when he thought he deserved the rank they were denying him. It’s where he sat, sick with anxiety, when Palpatine was being confronted, just before he fell. And it’s where he killed all the younglings after he did fall.

It’s also where Anakin first heard anyone call him the Chosen One.

He turns to Obi-Wan, who seems to know what he’s going to ask. “So did it turn out to be true, in the end?”

“You tell me,” he says quietly. “How does the Force feel?”

Anakin extends his senses in a way he has not done in a long time. “Balanced,” he admits.

“And how do _you_ feel?”

He still doesn’t know how to answer. “I don’t know.” He gazes out the window. The sky is that same twilight-or-dawn that it had been when he first arrived here. The light pollution of Coruscant’s endless city had always prevented him from seeing the stars, but he can see them now. “I’ve never felt like a Chosen One, I can tell you that. Still don’t.”

“It was a lot of pressure I never wanted to put on you,” Obi-Wan admits, moving beside him. He gazes out the window. “It was always something I felt helpless about. One of the reasons I always thought you deserved a better master, like Qui-Gon.”

Anakin looks straight at him. “Obi-Wan, you were the best master I ever could have had,” he says, and he means it. “Qui-Gon wanted me to be trained _because_ I was the Chosen One, but you just accepted me as an ordinary person. I know I screwed up in the end. I know I destroyed everything. And I know that you didn’t want me, in the beginning, any more than I wanted you. But that all changed when we actually got to know each other. Sure, our relationship was always difficult, but I wouldn’t take it back for anything in the universe.”

Obi-Wan chuckled again. “Now I know you definitely haven’t changed.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just as prone to your attachments as you always were. It is a great testament to your character, and at the same time your greatest curse.”

Anakin looks away. “My attachments, right. You always told me not to have them, and they ended up destroying the galaxy.”

“Something we – _I_ – could have done better to prevent,” he says sadly. “But if you’re still looking for an answer, Anakin, I can try to provide you with one.”

Anakin just looks at him.

Obi-Wan takes his hand.  “The threat of Palpatine was something the galaxy had never faced the likes of, and the Force reacted to counter this darkness that threatened to put out the light,” Obi-wan says. “You were born when Palpatine was training his first apprentice, Darth Maul, the same Sith that killed Qui-Gon. This led to me being the one to train you, which set in motion a chain of events no one ever could have foreseen.”

“But the future is always in motion,” Anakin says. “Either of us could have died a hundred different times. Probably more than that.”

Obi-Wan has a twinkle in his eyes. “Your incredible Force-sensitivity helped, guided, and protected you throughout your life. It was the Force’s personal gift to you, to help you in the difficult journey it had placed upon your shoulders.”

“But what about you? I couldn’t have done anything I did, even the good things, without you.”

“That may be true,” Obi-Wan says thoughtfully. “And it may not be. What you must understand, Anakin, is that your destiny was never determined. You were born of the Force, that’s true, but it was not necessary for things to end up the way they did. Your decisions _were_ yours, not the Force’s.”

“But then what about the prophecy? Some Jedi made that ages ago, and suddenly I’ve fulfilled it but you tell me that my destiny wasn’t predetermined?”

“I think that, like many prophecies, we see it as fulfilled only because we choose to. You were a symbol of hope for many Jedi in a dark time, Anakin, including me. It may have been wishful thinking, but you truly were an inspiration. I think that, towards the end, some Jedi felt that the only reason that fighting the Sith wasn’t futile was because we had the Chosen One on our side.”

Anakin looks at him. “But I never did anything that I did in order to fulfill the prophecy. I didn’t join the Jedi because I thought I was destined to, I did it because I wanted to help people. I didn’t throw Palpatine down a reactor shaft to bring balance to the Force, I did it to save my son.”

Obi-Wan laughs. “You make it sound like you don’t want the Force to be in balance.”

Anakin rolls his eyes. “Of course I do, I’m just saying I –” He sighs, and offers a small smile. “I guess I shouldn’t complain.”

Obi-Wan put a gentle hand on Anakin’s arm. “When you found balance in yourself, you also brought balance to the Force. You destroyed the last of the Sith, and you paved the way for the return of the Jedi. Remember, the Jedi are the ones who create the light, whereas the darkness is always there.”

“But I destroyed everything before I brought balance, so why should it even matter?” Anakin says, looking out the window. “How can I possibly deserve to become one with the Force when I’m the reason that darkness almost took over permanently?”

“You don’t know that it would have been permanent,” Obi-Wan says. “As you said, the future is always in motion. The Rebel Alliance could have destroyed the Death Star along with you and the Emperor, which could have been another end to the darkness.”

“Then what’s the _point of all this?”_ Anakin says, pulling away. “Why does it _matter_ if I brought balance or not if there are a million other ways this could have worked out?”

“Because it does matter,” Obi-Wan says simply. “It matters to you.”

Anakin groans. He never thought he would get a headache in the afterlife.

“Anakin, you created all of this for yourself,” Obi-Wan tells him, closing the distance that Anakin had created. “Remember what Yoda always used to say? Whatever happens, happens. There is no point to dwelling on what could have been. You made the decision to turn to the dark, and then you made another that brought balance within yourself and within the Force. _You_ did that. Why doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me,” Anakin grumbles, not looking at him.

Obi-Wan nods. “It always has, I know.”

They stand in silence for a few minutes before Anakin sighs. “I’m sorry. I know you just want to help. I don’t really know why I’m trying so hard to blame myself. I always did the opposite in life.”

“It is a testament to your goodness,” Obi-Wan says gently.

Anakin doesn’t completely understand. He knows he probably never will. And, he supposes, everything is out of his hands now, and into the hands of his son.

Obi-Wan nudges him. “I think you’re ready to go on.”

Anakin looks at him, and he points through the windows to a spot at the basis of the spires: the training ground. Anakin moves closer to the window and studies the spot. There is a group of people of all sizes and colors gathering down there, mingling amongst themselves. Each of them is wearing some alternative of Jedi attire. Anakin can’t help but feel a lump grow in his throat again.

A sudden thought strikes him, and looks urgently at Obi-Wan. “Ahsoka’s not here, is she?”

Obi-Wan’s smile is wide. “I am happy to report that she is alive and well.”

Relieve washes over him in waves, and for the first time he is thankful that Ahsoka had left the Order. Maybe someday the Force would bring her and Luke together.

He looks at Obi-Wan again. “I’m ready.” He follows Obi-Wan back out the way they came, and they exit into the temple training grounds.

The sunlight is almost overwhelming. The first thing he looks at is the sky. He finds the light of the suns – of which he counts two, despite there only ever being one sun in the Coruscant system – does not hurt his eyes, and the daytime sky, which is currently his favorite shade of blue, is somehow speckled with stars. On the horizon, the cityscape of Coruscant stretches on endlessly in a gentle curve.

He moves with Obi-Wan onto the ancient grounds where dozens of Jedi stand waiting for them. He recognizes most. He can remember where many of them died. He too keenly remembers which ones he killed himself. But not one of them looks accusatory, or sad, or angry. Every single one of them either smiles, nods, or bows their head.

Anakin still thinks he doesn’t deserve any of it.

Aayla Secura greets him, as does Kit Fisto, Luminara Unduli, Stass Allie. He shakes hands with Ki-Adi-Mundi, Agen Kolar, Adi Gallia. Plo Koon places a warm hand on his shoulder. He is surprised to see Barriss Offee is here, but she doesn’t show him any resentment when she bows to him in greeting, and he finds he isn’t angry with her, either.

He sees the pointed montrals and red skin of a Togruta, and he forces himself to remember that Ahsoka is not here. “Master Ti,” Anakin says, bowing to Shaak Ti. “I’m sorry for all the problems I caused you.”

Shaak Ti shakes her head. “It’s all right, Anakin,” she says with a smile. “Welcome back.” She moves aside to let him pass.

Anakin and Obi-Wan walk down the small steps in front of the ancient, twisted tree where three Jedi Masters stand waiting for him. One walks up to greet them.

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon Jinn says, beaming down at him. “It is a pleasure to finally have you here with us.”

“Master,” Anakin replies, bowing to the man who made everything possible for him. “Thank you for every opportunity you created for me, and – and I’m sorry. I’m sure I’ve disappointed you.” He doesn’t look up until he feels hands on his shoulders.

“Anakin,” Qui-Gon says again. “You don’t need to call me Master, and you certainly don’t need to bow to anyone here.”

“But I –” Anakin stammers, emotions once again rising in him. “I owe you and everyone here so much, after everything I’ve done –”

“Has Obi-Wan taught you nothing while you’ve been here, Anakin?” Qui-Gon says mysteriously, a twinkle in his eye. “Welcome home, Anakin Skywalker.” He moves away, and Anakin glances at Obi-Wan before moving forward.

“Master Windu,” Anakin says. “I don’t care what anyone says, I do need to apologize to you – I’m sorry.”

Windu waves it off with a very small smirk. “Just don’t do it again, Skywalker.” Anakin doesn’t know whether to laugh or not.

“And Master Yoda, I....” he trails off. He doesn’t even know where to begin with Yoda.

“Listen to Qui-Gon, you should, young Skywalker,” Yoda says, looking up at him. “A great Jedi you were. Stronger in the Force than anyone here, you are. Peace and tranquility you will find easily, if allow yourself to look, you do.”

Anakin supposes he had better accept the advice. Then he remembers something.

“You trained Luke to be a Jedi, didn’t you?” he says, looking at Yoda. “Thank you for that, Master, because without him, I....”

“Found his own way to help you, Luke would have, had I not been there,” Yoda says. “Thank me, you need not. Thank _you_ , I should, for bringing balance to the Force where many doubted you could.”

Anakin just shakes his head. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Welcome back, young Skywalker,” Yoda says, before walking off with Windu and leaving Anakin and Obi-Wan alone together in the shade of the tree. Anakin looks at him.

“They have all forgiven you, where you cannot forgive yourself,” Obi-Wan says softly.

“Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be,” Anakin offers. “Maybe that’s my punishment.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. “You have been locked inside your own mind for too long. I will remind you, Anakin, that the dark side is not only fear, anger, and hatred. It is also suffering. And you have been suffering for a very long time. Now, it is time for you to rest.”

As if on cue, Anakin feels a warm tenderness in the Force wrapping itself around him. His eyes close involuntarily and he clumsily reaches out for Obi-Wan’s hand as if to make sure he’s still there. Obi-Wan takes both of his. The Force caresses Anakin’s face, tousles his hair, and envelops him in pure serenity. He can’t fight it. He doesn’t even want to. And he understands. He understands that this is the Force itself, helping him find his way. It is not excusing anything horrible he has done, nor is it disregarding all his positive accomplishments. It is simply helping him to find peace. Tranquility. Balance.

Disembodied, voiceless words come through in a direct message to his brain: _Rest now, Anakin_.

And he does. He lets go. He releases his despair into the Force, and in return the Force wraps around him a blanket of calmness that relieves him of all his burdens. It is a comfort: instead of feeling emptied and hollow, he feels whole.

When his eyes open again, Anakin is staring at Obi-Wan, who smiles knowingly.

He has not been purged of his guilt, but he does not allow it to overtake him. He will be aware of what he did for as long as he has a consciousness, but that does not mean it will rule over him. Where minutes ago he felt despair, now he finds nothing but peace.

Perhaps that is all it truly means to bring balance to the Force.

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly wanted to include Shmi and Padme, but I couldn't convince myself that there was any way they would be able to retain their identities after death. I generally imagine that when non-Force-sensitives die, their soul/essence/whatever still becomes one with the Force, but their consciousness ceases to exist. 
> 
> Also, the way I headcanon it, the Force sort of created Anakin as a last ditch effort to put an end to the imbalance of light and dark in the galaxy caused by the rise of Plagueis and Sidious, but bringing balance to the Force or being light or dark was never something he was obligated to do - it was more like the Force (if you bestow any sentient characteristics onto it, which I do to an extent) hoped that he would bring balance and when he did, no matter all the awful or good things he did in life, it welcomed him back lovingly. That's what I was trying to portray here.
> 
> Oh, and, Ahsoka lives!


End file.
